West Point
by livyroro
Summary: When Tris packs up everything - leaving the gated community called Abnegation she's lived in for the past 18 years behind - to go to the West Point Military Academy, she has no clue what's in store for her. Friends, enemies, and lovers, all on top of an intense Cadet training program to become a leader in the Army.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: First and (hopefully) only author's note, I advise you read it because I'm going to be addressing some things you may notice or have questions on. **

**So, first off, thank you for reading this. I actually planned this fic out, something that's new to me, so I think this might go very well. Okay, my point: I do not know a single thing about West Point or the military, but I did my share of research and I think I've got an idea about what life is like there enough for me to write about it. If you know about the military and notice anything wrong, by all means, please tell me! I thought the similarities, especially as I researched more, between the US Military Academies and Dauntless are very strong, so that should make for a good AU.**

**IMPORTANT: The idea for this story was totally mine.**

**Without further ado, I present Chapter 1.**

* * *

_West Point_

Ch. 1

* * *

"Mom, did the mail come yet?" I say, still panting from my afternoon run. I reach down and start to untie my pink Nikes, waiting for a response. "Mom?" I yell, directing my voice up the stairs, where I know my mother is working.

"There's no need to yell, Beatrice," she chastises me, coming gracefully down the stairs, her bun bouncing slightly with each step. She reaches the bottom, and puts her hands on my shoulders, looking down at me. She's not very tall, but I'm somehow even shorter, so while most of my friends have outgrown their parents mine still loom over me.

She looks at me pensively, shifting her gaze from my eyes down to my neon shoes. She wasn't very happy when I chose that color, she tried to hide it, but I know she didn't really want me to get them. She prefers for me not to draw any attention to myself, and although my parents are rather strict they do it in such a manner that their rules almost seem like friendly suggestions.

"I haven't gotten the mail yet, but I believe it did come." She says almost impassively, and I waste no time in running down the hallway and out of the gray door. The sun hits me like a blast in the eyes, even though I was out here minutes ago, I still squint and cover my eyes with my hand as I walk down the driveway.

I reach our mailbox quickly, and I run my hand along one of the sun faded sides with scraped off letters reading _Prior_ before I pull out the mail.

Sifting through it quickly, I feel my stomach sink in to the ground. _No letter for me. _I reach over to shut the mailbox dejectedly when I hear something crinkle under my foot. I look down, and find that I'm stepping on a big yellow folder, addressed to me.

I don't contain my squeal of excitement as I jump back, and scoop it up with both hands, staring at it and admiring the way it looks. Soon, my nervous excitement wears down to anxiety, and I start to wonder if I made it in or not.

"Beatrice!" I'm about to go back inside when I hear my name called from across the street. I turn around to see Susan, wearing her usual gray sweatshirt and jeans, waving to me from her perfectly mowed yard. The door to her house is still open, blocking half a window in the gray siding. Her house looks identical to mine, and to all the others in our neighborhood. It's a serene gated community where new parents and reserved families come to enjoy life – but it's quite boring.

I fight to keep the slight annoyance I feel from coming through in my expression, so I send her a tight smile and wave back. She quickly crosses the street and I go to meet her at the sidewalk.

"Hello! I haven't seen you in so long! You look tan!" says Susan. Long is an understatement. We used to be really close, but Susan's never doubted the teachings our parents instilled to us at a young age, the strictness of our little enclosed world. I did. We grew apart, I guess. No big fight or fall out, we just drifted. I haven't even talked to her for real since ninth grade.

I laugh. I'm the opposite of tan, pale and bony with not a single freckle on my body. "Well, I suppose I'm not as white as a sheet anymore, so we're making small steps," I say, cracking a rare joke. She lets out a short, forced laugh; she's never been one to joke around.

She quiets down, not sure what to say. She's not one to ask personal questions, either, or any questions actually. We stand in silence for a few awkward moments, but thankfully my mother calls me inside to help with dinner, just in time.

We say our formal goodbyes, and I re-enter the house, greeted by the aroma of chicken and rice. I enter the small kitchen, pulling out a cutting board after putting my folder in my room. I don't want to open it yet.

I start cutting the broccoli, and my mother works on cooking the rice and putting the chicken in the oven. I put the broccoli in the steamer, and I start to set the table. "Is Caleb going to be home for dinner tonight?" I call. For his senior year he's been away at a pre-college school called Erudite; only the kids in the country with the top scores get admitted. I was accepted, but I didn't want to live a life of academia. I opted to relax my senior year, not that my parents were too keen on that.

"I think so, yes," my mother responds, still busy cooking. I set four places, and light the candles in the center of the table. "Did you get the mail?" She asks, putting the rice in the pan.

"Yeah, nothing for me, yet," I lie. My parents don't know about my application, and I won't tell them unless I get in. I applied for University of Illinois and Chicago U, but I don't really want to go to those places. That's why this is so important.

"Hm. You're sure you got the applications in by the deadline?" She asks, suspiciously. I've been accepted to everywhere I've applied, I just haven't told them that yet. I want them to think I don't have any options. They won't let me go where I want to unless I take drastic measures.

"I'm sure. They had a lot of applicants this year, I heard. Probably all backed up," I lie, again. They actually had a record low. So basically anyone who wanted to go got in.

"Well, I was talking to ," she says, referring to Susan's mother, "And Susan is going to Chicago University. You applied there, correct?" I nod. "Wouldn't that be great, you two going together? You could still live at home, and I'm sure your classes would overlap."

I nod again and fake a smile. Of course Susan's going to college in the city, nobody who grows up in this neighborhood ever leaves. Most of the families here have lived here for generations, like mine. There's a rigorous interviewing process that wannabes have to go through, and in the end they have to be approved by our little government, the Council, and most importantly the leader, Marcus Eaton. He never lets anyone in. We haven't gotten anyone new in since I was about five years old, so it's been me, Susan, her brother Robert, and Caleb for as long as I can remember.

The steamer beeps, and I get the hot broccoli out, and set up a place so I can cut it. I start making slow, calculated cuts with my little knife.

There are other older children, but none younger. I remember a boy named Tobias, Marcus' son. We used to play when we were younger but when he was about nine his mother died, and I didn't see him ever again. Until the day he left.

"Beatrice, watch your thumb!" My mother cries, almost dropping the chicken on the floor as she watches me, practically in a panic. I mutter a curse under my breath, and I move my small cutting knife away from the finger it almost cut off. I resume slicing the broccoli once my mother is satisfied with my safety.

I let my thoughts wander as I chop, not worrying about my wellbeing, and the first thing that comes to mind is the day he left.

* * *

_"Andrew, shut the blinds! Hurry!" My mother yelled. She never yelled, not at my father, not at anyone._

_ I ran up to the window, peering out to see what she was trying to hide from us. I made out two figures dressed in gray standing outside on the street. I recognized one as Mayor Eaton, by his Mayor's robe. The other man looked younger, but stronger. _

_ They were standing rather far apart, and I could see their arms flailing and their mouths moving rapidly, like they were in the middle of a heated argument. The stronger, younger one advanced on the Mayor, curling his tan fingers into fists. _

_ I heard the pounding of running feet behind me and the blinds were drawn quickly, blocking my view. "Go upstairs, Beatrice," my father boomed. _

_ I obeyed, moping slowly up the stairs. When I got in to my small room I shut the door, then I ran over to my window. The blinds were shut and locked in place, but I lifted them enough so I could stick my eyes through._

_ Marcus was lying on the ground, a pool of dark red gathering around him. Blood._

_ I saw my father run out of our house, and he picked up Marcus before scolding the young man that beat him up. I was shocked. I'd never seen a beating before, much less heard my parents yell, at a neighbor out in the street._

_ A neighbor who beat up our mayor._

_ It wasn't until the next week when I noticed Tobias wasn't in school when I realised who the young man was._

(page break)

I finished cutting quickly, and my mother finished the rice just on time. I handed her the bowl of cut broccoli, and she combined the rice and veggies in the skillet.

She released me from the kitchen to go get changed before dinner. I run upstairs, and quickly put on a gray blouse and light blue jeans. I sweep my hair up from its ponytail to a tight bun on top of my head, pinning the loose hair close to my head. I smooth down the light blonde baby hairs before running downstairs. I get to the door just as the doorbell rings, and I open it to a tired looking Caleb.

"Hey, Caleb!" I say, a little louder than I meant to.

He shoots me a look, "Hello, Beatrice." He pushes his glasses up his nose, and I usher him inside. He takes off his coat, revealing a blue sweater vest with the Erudite eye symbol on the left hip, and navy dress pants as well as black slacks. He never changes out of his uniform, it seems. Though, I know he raced to get here, because his school ends at five, and it's just now six-fifteen.

He brushes past me slightly, stepping into the dining room confidently. My mother says her polite greetings as she puts the food on the table. My father comes in through the door a few seconds later, and we all sit down together.

Caleb says grace, like he always does when he's here. My mother looks around and smiles at us, before we all say "Amen."

I push my food around on my plate a bit, too lost in thought to be hungry. I really need this dinner to go quickly so I can open my letter, but I'm not excused until everyone's done eating. And my father likes to take his time. Plus, the chicken and rice lost it's appeal to me years ago.

"So, Caleb, how is school?" My father asks.

"Good, father. I'm right behind the valedictorian, for now," responds Caleb, chewing his rice slowly. All anyone ever talks about with him is school and learning, because he finds a way to get to academics from any subject. He only ever talks about his ranking, as well, and though I think it's decent, he wasn't this cocky before he left for early college.

"Beatrice?" My mother asks.

"Huh?" I say, swallowing quickly. "I mean, yes, Mom?"

"Your father asked you a question," she says, giving me a glare with her eyes.

I turn to my father who sits at the other end of the table, "Sorry, father. Can you repeat the question?"

He smiles. "Yes, I was wondering if you'd decided where you'd like to attend college yet?"

Why is everyone so obsessed with education? I swallow my annoyance and put on a happy face, "No, I'm between a few. I'm going to pick by the end of the week, promise."

Both my parents nod and smile encouragingly. They pick up their conversation about work again and I allow myself to tune out until my father finishes eating at about 7. Since mother and I made dinner, father and Caleb will be cleaning up the dishes. I bring my plate and cup in and hand them to Caleb, who takes them without a word. We're used to doing this kind of thing.

I say a hasty goodnight to my parents before heading up to my room. I shut the door behind me, leaning against it and sinking down to the floor while I let out my hair. I rub my eyes with the backs of my hands, and roll over and stand up slowly, walking over to my desk.

The folder sits next to my lamp, which I flick on. I pick it up gingerly, admiring it between my hands. It has a sticker with my name and address on it, but there's no return address. There is an American flag stamp in the corner, and in the middle there's a big circle with a star in the middle – the symbol of the military.

I carefully pull back the metal clasp and open it. Inside there's a dark green book-like thing, and I pull it out with shaking hands.

It's not labeled, so I carefully open it. I let out an audible moan-like sigh as I see the contents. On one side there's a black and white picture of an old building – the academy, I assume – and on the other side is a big certificate. It reads:

**UNITED STATES MILITARY**

_On behalf of the President of the United States of America, the Admission Committee of the United States Military Academy takes great pleasure in announcing an _

**APPOINTMENT to **

_BEATRICE PRIOR_

Class of 2018

My tears threaten to ruin the paper, so I quickly flip through the rest of the little booklet. It includes information, times, requirements, and ground rules of the academy.

If my parents approve, I'm going to West Point.

Checking my clock, I see that it's only 7:30. That means Caleb is probably gone, but my parents are still up. Perfect time to ask them.

I walk downstairs slowly after putting my hair back up, and I find them relaxing in the living room. "Mom? Dad? Can I talk to you?" I say weakly.

They turn around in surprise, and cover it up with huge smiles. "Of course! Come, sit." My mother gestures for me to sit across from them on the love seat.

I sit down, wiping my hands on my jeans and fixing my hair nervously before I begin. "I think I know what college I want to go to," I say quietly. My mother looks over at my father with a small smile on her lips, and she grabs his hand reassuringly as I continue. This must be hard for them.

"So, Chicago or Illinois?" My father asks.

I pause, before saying quietly, "Neither."

My parents shoot me confused looks. I clear my throat, and open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.

"Where do you want to go, then, Beatrice?" My mother asks, worry written all over her plain features.

"I...uh…I want to go to..." I stop, and regain my composure. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes briefly, before saying it loudly, with confidence. "I want to go to West Point."

Silence. I peel open one eye before the other, and I see my parents shooting looks at each other, mouthing things I can't make out. I bite back a snide remark.

They turn to me once they feel my gaze. "We…uh…we have to think about this, Beatrice. How do you know you'll even get in?" My father asks quietly.

"I already got in," I state plainly.

"What? When did you apply?" My mother stutters, her voice louder than usual. Her wrinkles pop out as she pinches her eyebrows together.

"A few months ago," I say, choosing not to give them much information.

She stutters a few incoherent words, and my father puts his arm on her shoulder, standing up and bringing her with him. "We'll talk tomorrow, Beatrice. It's late, and you should get to bed." He says it like a suggestion, but I know it's an order. It's only 7:45. But I go up to my bedroom anyways.

Even if I have intentions of sleep I wouldn't be able to rest anyways. I get out of bed, and creep over to my door. I open it slowly, making sure it's silent. I sneak down the hallway, stopping at the white door that leads to my parents bedroom. It's silent for a few moments, and I lean in and put my ear to the door.

"Andrew, she can't be in the military! Our little Beatrice can't join the military!" A voice, my mother, sobs loudly.

My father hushes her soothingly, and speaks quieter. I only hear pieces of what he says, "Natalie, we can't….don't want her to die…her life, her future…make her own decisions."

My mothers sobbing quiets down to a few sniffles. "But…Andrew, she can't go...not supposed to leave the town…supposed to be a safe place…for life," she says quietly, pausing every so often to blow her nose.

"I don't want her to go…but it's her choice. You have to let her do what she wants. I don't want her to leave either but Caleb left and he's fine," says father.

"But he's still in Chicago!" my mother cries out.

I hear more shushing, and some shuffling. I stay at the door for a few more minutes, but my parents start to whisper. I walk back to my room and lay in bed, staring up at the white ceiling.

My parents sound pretty divided at my request…I hope my father convinces my mother, because I want to leave this town. I really don't know what I want to do in life but I'd like to go somewhere, and the military guarantees me a future.

I don't sleep at all, I spend the whole night debating with myself and thinking deeply about my decisions.

(page break)

"Beatrice, honey, wake up," my mother says gently. I groan and roll over, and she puts a hand on my shoulder and pushes hair out of my face. "Come on, Beatrice. We'd like to talk to you." Her hand leaves my shoulder and she softly exits my room.

I pull on some clothes, putting my hair in to a sloppy ponytail, and I head downstairs. I'm greeted with the smell of bacon, and I see my parents sitting at the table smiling. There's a place set for me, with orange juice and utensils, and the platters of pancakes and bacon sit in the middle of the table.

I sit down without saying a word, and take three pieces of bacon and two pancakes. My father hands me the syrup, still smiling, and I thank him quietly and pour a generous amount on my plate.

I start eating, keeping my eyes on my plate. This is very suspicious. Most likely, they've decided to make me go to college here and study something I don't want to, so they're letting me down easily. Nobody talks for a while, and when I'm done I push my plate away slightly, and look them in the eyes.

"So, you wanted to talk?" I say, drinking the last bit of OJ in my glass.

My father nods, "Yes. We thought about your request, and," he pauses dramatically, grabbing my mother's hand, "We're going to let you go."

I practically choke on my juice, and half of it ends up on my shirt. "What?" I say loudly, more juice pouring out of my mouth.

"Beatrice," my mother says, a look of surprise and disappointment on her face, "Please go clean up."

I push away from the table quickly, making it scrape against the floor.

"Beatrice," my mother chastises.

"Sorry!" I exclaim, rushing over to the kitchen sink. I wash off my hands and face, and I run upstairs, changing in to a different sweater. When I return to the table, everything looks the same. My parents are whispering furiously, and I clear my throat. They break apart, and gesture for me to sit.

"Since you've already been accepted, and you seem to really want this, we decided it would be good for you. If you really want this," says my mother, eyeing me carefully.

"Thank you, thank you, yes, I really want to do this," I say quickly.

My father chuckles, a low sound, "Okay, then, Beatrice. When do you need to be at the school?"

I've memorized the date and time, "June 20 at 8:30 am."

"So that's in…three days?" My father inquires. I nod. "School starts in the middle of the summer?"

I shake my head, "No, it's Cadet Basic Training, school starts in September."

He gets visibly stressed, "Oh, okay. We're going to have a lot of work to do, but I promise you you'll be in New York on Monday."

(page break)

"Mom, I think we're good," I say for the hundredth time. She's helping me pack, and now looking around my barren room I don't know what else she wants me to take with me. There are very strict rules – I found upon reading the packet when my brain was actually functioning and not overloaded with excitement – about what you can and cannot bring. I can only have one suitcase, and I can't bring most of my things – but my mother, being the selfless woman she is, insisted that I give all my other stuff away to charity.

So I found myself sorting through clothes for two days straight, getting rid of most of them but keeping some home for when I visit.

My mother smiles at me, and pats my shoulder while leaving the room. "Dinner's in half an hour," she says. Her eyes start to tear up, "Enjoy your time, honey."

I'm leaving tomorrow, on an early plane. I sigh, because my last few hours as a free person will be spent packing and checking – and double checking – the items I'm bringing. When we get to the school, they'll supply us with clothes and personal hygiene items.

I had to buy most of the things required of us to bring, as it is a military school and I've never done anything with a pocket knife before. I ruffle through my suitcase slowly, examining the random objects I'm bringing.

One, and only one, photo frame & picture of my family. My razor, my watch (waterproof), a small address book. Notebooks, pens, pencils, lip balm, and sunscreen – at my mother's insistence. Duct tape, band-aids (and a whole first aid kit), and a myriad of black and white sports bras. And my pink Nikes.

Caleb's supposed to be coming down tonight – half the time he doesn't show and ditches us for his girlfriend Cara – so I make myself look presentable before heading downstairs.

My mom cooked stir fry – a rare occurence – and I tried to help, but she firmly told me no. I sit down at the table, already set, when Caleb comes in.

"Beatrice," he says, rushing over to hug me. "I can't believe you're really leaving," he says.

"Well, you're the same age as me and you've already left." I say rudely. I wasn't too keen on him leaving me here alone. Erudite changed him.

"Beatrice!" mother scolds from the kitchen.

I sigh. I shouldn't rehash old arguments on our last day together. "I'm sorry."

He shakes his head, looking at the floor, "Don't sweat it."

My father comes home shortly after, and we all sit down and eat together for what will most likely be the last time for a while. We laugh and tell stories and I'm allowed to speak, for once. I finish off my stir fry, and head in to the kitchen to get seconds. Caleb takes that as an opportunity to speak about me.

"You're really gonna let her do this?" he asks, quietly, obviously thinking I can't hear him. I don't interrupt; I want to know what they're going to say.

"Caleb, it's not your place to decide. If your sister wants to be in the military, who are we to stop her?" says father, somewhat gruffly.

"But Dad, you know she might _die,_ right? You're sending her off to her death!" Caleb hisses. I hear the clatter of silverware hitting plates, and chairs scooting back, rubbing against the pale wooden floor.

"Caleb Prior, this is the last time I'm saying it: It's not your decision," my father booms, saying the last part slowly, as if Caleb was a little boy who didn't understand.

I walk in as Caleb weakly nods, and sits back down, playing with his food.

My mother's always been the best at assuaging awkwardness, so she starts up a new conversation as if the whole blow up didn't happen. "So, Beatrice, have you told Susan of your plans?"

I stop chewing, I totally forgot about her. My mom doesn't know that we never talk anymore. "No…I've been busy. I forgot to tell her, mother."

My mother looks disturbed, but then she smiles broadly. "Well, when we're done here, we can go visit the Blacks and you can say goodbye to all of them."

I'm in no position to object, although I'd rather not spend my last night home making small talk with the neighbors, I need to say goodbye to Susan.

The night is cool, the humid air pressing down on my skin, rushing through my lungs. The crickets are chirping, and the mosquitoes are biting. The four of us walk across the street in a compact formation, and we're greeted at the Black's door by Susan's mother.

"The Priors! What a pleasant surprise, come in, come in! Susan, Robert, the Priors are here!" She ushers us in one by one, hugging and making remarks about how long it's been.

I'm last to go, and when she sees me her face lights up. "Oh, Beatrice, it's been too long! You're so grown up, my God! Come in, come in! Let's have dessert!" I walk in to a house that mirrors mine, and hang up my jacket on the coat hanger.

Mrs. Black rushes by me, hurrying in to the kitchen to receive a variety of baked goods – not that I'm complaining. Susan comes out and herds us in to the living room, not without sneaking glances at Caleb.

The two of them had a sort of fling, as much of a fling as you can have in Abnegation, I'm not sure they kissed but I believe they did. Last summer, they went everywhere together, leaving the house at dawn and coming back at dusk, after parting ways in the middle of the street. It was very cliché, very romantic. Until he decided to go off to smart kid school, leaving both me and Susan stranded.

We all sit down together in their living room, and Robert joins us. We make small talk as I predicted, eating little scones off the platter placed before us on the coffee table.

College comes up quickly, as it always does in a 18 year old's conversations with adults. "So, Beatrice, have you decided where you're going to school?" Mrs. Black inquires after finishing a third scone.

"Yes, actually, I have," I say, speaking in the forced politeness of my neighborhood, "I'm going to West Point."

And it was like I had dropped a bomb on the house. Mrs. Black almost fell out of her chair, and her eyes almost popped out of their sockets. Susan let out a huge gasp, going rigid. And Robert's features morphed into an expression of pure bewilderment.

My mother and father exchange glances while the Black family has a big, collaborative stroke. Father clears his throat, setting down his half eaten pastry, and says, "Natalie and I thought we should let her go where she pleases, and in four years she'll be a leader in the U.S. Army." He forces a tight smile.

Mrs. Black, still clearly surprised, beams, "Well, that's wonderful news, Beatrice! I'm so happy for you, and proud. We all are, right?"

Susan and Robert snap out of their trances. "Oh, Beatrice, that's wonderful!" Susan says, a superficial smile plastered to her lips.

"I'm happy for you, Bea," says Robert. "When are you leaving?"

"Uh…tomorrow, actually," I say.

"Wow! Well, I wish you good luck, Beatrice. It was so nice of you to come over," Mrs. Black says. I smile, and we finish up the scones like I'm not leaving for military school tomorrow.

My family files out, and I stay behind to speak to Susan. She turns to leave and go back to her room, but I place a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Susan."

"Oh, Beatrice. I didn't see you there," she says, void of emotion.

"Look, Susan…" I try to start, but she interrupts me.

"You don't need to do that, Beatrice. I know we haven't been close these past few years and you don't need to try to fix it now. I'm happy for you, really."

I smile. "Goodbye, Susan."

"Goodbye, Beatrice," she says softly. We hug, and I head out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

_West Point_

Ch. 2

* * *

Walking down the front steps of my house for the last time as its inhabitant, my thoughts are different than I had expected. When one leaves their house for the last time to go off to the other side of the country, I'd say your thoughts are going to be pretty sad and depressed, mainly nostalgic. That is not the case.

All I'm thinking about is: Who invented a suitcase with wheels that's not good for going down stairs?

"Beatrice, why don't you hold it?" My mother kindly suggests, seeing my struggle. For some reason, we have numerous sets of stairs on our property: The first one, the stairs front the second floor to the first was the worst. 12 steps of hell. Then, the steps from the porch to the ground, where my suitcase tumbled off in to the shrubs and I had to retrieve it. On the sidewalk leading to the driveway, there are 5 little step downs, so it's a gentle slope, easy to walk on, when you're not lugging an uncooperative piece of luggage.

Since I'm only allowed to bring one bag, Mother tried her best to fit everything I need in to the old, beat up suitcase I've had since I was five.

It clunks over the last step down, and it smoothly glides down the driveway. My father's already sitting in the little silver car, his eyes tearing up as I step in. I throw my suitcase in the seat next to me as my mother gets in the passenger seat.

The key is turned and the car rumbles to life, headlights illuminating the 3:30 darkness. "We good?" He asks, voice deep with sadness.

"Yes, everything's ready," I reply.

I hear him take a deep breath, and the car leaves the driveway. I take one last look at my house before it disappears around the corner. I turn my head to look at the other houses on our street, all identical to mine. I feel myself get lighter as we approach the big iron gate, seconds closer to freedom.

My father slows the car so the sensor can detect the little device we have on the windshield – it's the only way to exit or enter, without the guard checking you out. The gate opens slowly, silently. It's no different than when I would leave for school every day, and return in the afternoon, but this time it has meaning.

I'll never be a prisoner here again, I'll be free to roam the world as I please. I feel like I'm finally an adult.

We pull out on to the main road, the gate closed behind us.

I'm out.

* * *

"I love you, do good! Be safe!" My mother cries, tears streaming down her cheeks. My father has his arm around her shoulder, watching me enter the security checkpoint. I smile weakly in return.

I turn around and wait in line, sneaking glances at them every few minutes. They stand there, frozen in place, until I've gone through the metal detector and exited on the other side. I don't know how long they stay there, but I'm guessing they're not going to leave until they see that my flight has left, by checking one of the big electronic screens hung at regular intervals.

I'm practically floating by the time I get to my gate, with ten minutes to spare. No parents. No supervision, until I get to the academy. But for these few minutes and hours when I'm on the plane, I'm free.

I board the plane a few minutes later, sitting in the middle. It's not full; it's not a prime time for travel – date or time wise. I take the window seat, setting my suitcase in the overhead compartments and then relaxing into the faded blue seat. I set my arms on the rubber armrests, putting my feet on the rest built in to the chair in front of me.

The safety lecture starts, the large-chested, bleach blond flight attendant going through the motions of putting on the mask, exiting, life vests, all that stuff.

The plane starts to pull away from the airport, and the crew starts to close off the walkway to the plane. I hear a commotion, and pull up the little plastic window blind to see what's going on.

A girl is standing in the now exposed gateway into the airport, holding her hands up and shouting at our flight attendant who is standing in the door of the plane.

They argue for a few moments longer before the flight attendant comes back in, hair tousled from the wind, and enters the cockpit. The plane slowly moves back to lock in to the building, and the girl runs up the ramp quickly, dragging a large carry on behind her.

She enters, breathless, and briskly makes her way down the aisle, brown hair flying behind her. The nearest empty seat is next to me, so she stops at the overhead compartment above me to try to put her bag in. She opens it quickly, and lifts up her pink bag with a grunt, and starts pushing it in. She's unsuccessful, and the flight attendant quickly comes to her aid, not without giving an annoyed sigh.

They both manage to get it in, and the girl sits down next to me while still breathing heavily. Even when she's sitting she's very tall, almost blocking my view of the aisle.

She turns to me, a bright smile on her lips, "Hi, I'm Christina. You are?"

I stutter, "I'm, uh, I'm Beatrice."

"Nice to meet you, Beatrice," she says coolly, pulling out a fashion magazine from the holder in the seat in front of her.

The plane slowly maneuvers over to the runway, and after hearing a brief speech from the pilot we start speeding up.

It's not my first time on a plane, I was on a plane once when I was little to see my grandmother when she was sick in the hospital, but that was almost 10 years ago. I grip the armrests as the airport passes by in a gray blur.

"First time?" Christina asks, not looking up from her magazine.

"No, I just haven't ridden one in a while," I say, my voice shaking.

"You'll be fine. Want some gum for your ears?" I totally forgot about ears popping, and I came unprepared.

"Yes, please," I say, just as my left ear starts to lose its hearing.

Still reading her magazine, she pulls out a pack from her pocket, holding it out and opening it for me. I pick one, unwrap it quickly and pop it in, feeling the minty taste spread in my mouth. Both my ears pop at once just as the plane lifts off the ground.

It's very steep at first, but once we get more level I can see the whole city. The towers and skyscrapers block my little suburban neighborhood, but I wouldn't look back even if I could.

My stomach flips, and I feel like I'm floating, then we settle into a consistent incline. Christina hasn't stopped reading the whole time. She looks like someone who's travelled a lot.

* * *

"So, what's bringing you to New York?" Christina inquires, having finished her magazine an hour ago. She watched a little bit of a movie on the TV in the seat ahead of her, but that must have bored her quickly, because she's devoted her full attention to me.

"I'm going to college," I say, deciding whether or not to tell this girl my college plans.

"Oh, me too! Where are you going?" She practically squeals, eliciting a few annoyed glances from the other passengers.

"Uh, I'm going to, uh, West Point," I say the last part quietly. Judging by the look on her face, it was a good thing I didn't say it loudly.

"You're going to _West Point_?" She screeches.

I nod. I knew it was not ordinary, but hundreds of cadets come to training each summer, from all across the country. Not all of them make it through, clearly, but it's still a big number.

"I'm going to West Point!" She yells. I try to keep my surprise hidden. She does not look like someone cut out for the army. She's wearing a black sweater, white jeans and carrying a big blue purse. But I guess I'm not exactly the stereotypical cadet either, with my sweatpants and my nondescript gray sweatshirt.

"What time do you check in?" She asks, her voice lower.

"Eight thirty," I say.

"Me too!" She exclaims, "Wow! Maybe we'll get to bunk together!"

"I hope so," I say. She seems nice, like someone I can relate to. She has a lot of energy, but that can be good in the mornings.

"Excuse me, ladies, can I get you drinks?" I turn around to see the blond stewardess with her cart standing next to our row.

"I'll have a coffee," Christina says immediately.

"And you?" The attendant asks.

"I'll have tea, please." I say. I've never had coffee before, my parents didn't drink it so neither did I.

She hands us our drinks and moves on. I slowly sip my tea, as it's still hot. I stir in the sugar that's still sitting at the bottom, while Christina practically downs hers in one gulp.

"So, where are you from?" She inquires.

"A little gated village outside of Chicago," I say. "You?"

"I'm from the city, baby," she replies, as if I couldn't tell, "I lived in a big penthouse near the pier. Wonderful view, nice shopping, great food. It's gonna be a big adjustment to a little room with two or three beds," she jokes.

"Yeah," I say. For me, it's almost going to be a step up, not a step down. I'll actually see some of the real world, though not much because first years don't get many weekends out.

* * *

I wake to the monotone voice of the pilot droning on about New York. It's still dark outside, and the lights on the plane have been dimmed. Christina's on her phone next to me.

I yawn a few times, wearily blinking my eyes. "What time is it?" I ask her.

"Six fifty," she replies.

"Are we going to land soon?" The plane simply cannot be late. I'm already cutting it close, we're set to land a little bit after seven. It takes an hour to drive from New York City, considering there's no traffic. I'll have about twenty to fifteen minutes to spare, if the plane even lands on time.

"Look outside," she states simply. I do as she says, and I gasp when I see the city. We're coming in a little bit outside of it, and I can see the lights and the empire state building in the distance. It's a huge area of light on the ground, it's so bright that I can't see any green or any grass, just buildings and pavement.

There are lots of little tiny cars, just little red and white lights moving slowly on little tiny streets though big skyscrapers.

We start to descend, circling around to face the airport. Christina doesn't look perturbed whatsoever whilst I'm gripping the armrests of my seat for dear life. We slowly come down, getting closer and closer to the ground. The red and white lights turn into cars, and the specs on the sidewalk turn in to people.

I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my teeth as we touch the ground. There's a brief jolt, then a grating sound, then we start to move smoothly down the runway, towards the airport.

Christina gets up and starts getting her stuff ready, as most of the other passengers are doing. I follow suit, picking up my garbage, as I don't have a carry on because all of the stuff I'm going to need is in my suitcase.

We slow down until we're at a standstill, and soon the plane is connected to the airport and people begin filing off. I slowly walk down the aisle following Christina, and with a wave from the stewardess and a goodbye from the pilot we're off.

"We're here," Christina says as we enter the airport. It's filled with people milling around, lugging suitcases or coats. They've all got bags under their eyes, and they walk with a weary gait, and I'm sure I do too.

"I know," I reply, "Have you ever been here before?"

"To New York City? Oh, yeah! I come here every break to visit family," she says, like it's the most normal thing in the world. I guess for most people, it is.

We grab our bags from the luggage claim and she leads us to the place to get taxis. I'm grateful all over again for finding her, because if she wasn't here I'd still be standing at the baggage claim and probably have an airport worker helping me get around.

We walk to the outside lobby for transportation, and I inhale a deep breath of the morning air. It's not as clean as back home, it has distinct smoky smell, mixed with aromas of food and exhaust from all the cars.

Christina gets us a taxi immediately, and we pile in. She tells him our destination, and not without a skeptical glance from the driver we're off.

We drive past tall buildings and busy city life, everything passing by as a blur. I take it all in, all the restaurants I've never heard of, different kinds of people I've never seen. There are so many cars, and so many stores, some of them with multiple stories. The lights are so bright it looks like it's noon even though it's still morning. Through the thick taxi windows I can still hear the commotion, the honking and yelling and engines of cars on the road.

The city passes by quickly, slowly merging in to the countryside as we near Hudson Valley.

We drive for a few more minutes and I can see the Academy in the distance. I poke Christina, "Look!"

She gasps, "It's gorgeous," she gushes, "I can't believe that we get to go to school here!"

"I know, it's insane."

The road dips down, and out of the left window I can see the school above us, looking out over the water. It goes back up again, and I can see the ancient buildings through the flitting evergreen trees passing by at turbo speed.

I feel my heart start to pound as the driver stops right outside of the main gate, and turns around. I start to pay but Christina hands him a wad of money before I can even open my purse. I open my mouth to complain but she interrupts me.

"Don't worry about it," she says, waving her hand in the air like the money is no big deal. "Now, let's go. Ready?"

I take a deep breath. "Ready." I pull open the cab door, meeting Christina at the trunk and we pull out our bags. We thank the cabbie as he races away, down the hill and around the corner, disappearing behind the trees.

I start to walk towards the gate, which is manned by two men dressed in traditional army uniforms. Since today's R-day, short for Reception Day, they're expecting us.

"New cadets?" the shorter one asks. He adjusts his blue cap whilst looking us over. I nod. "Identification, please," he says smoothly. I rummage in my purse quickly, and pull out my ID. Christina does the same. We hand them to the man, and he checks them over quickly. The other man comes over with a list, and asks us our names.

"I'm Christina and that's Beatrice," Christina replies quickly, not wanting to keep these men waiting. He scans the list quickly, checking off our names and finishing with a small nod.

"End of the hall, the door on the left," the short one says curtly. I nod, thanking him, and enter the building. My suitcase clacks against the cracks in the polished tiles, and I look out the magnificent windows as I walk.

The walls are an old looking brown stone, covered with flags of all different things, most recognizably the United States and the Military. We reach the end of the hall quickly, and I see an older man standing outside a set of large double doors.

"Hello, and welcome. You're going to go right inside, and find a seat," he says stiffly. "We're going to start soon, you're just on time."

It opens up into a big theater, filled with kids and parents sitting in the black plush chairs. And this was just the 8:30 crowd.

We find seats in the very back just as it starts. A man steps on stage, clad in the same clothes as the men guarding the gate: Navy blue pants with a black stripe down the side, a white shirt with lots of pins and buttons and a white cap.

"Good morning, new cadets and families. Today marks the first day of a long journey that will eventually lead you to become great soldiers serving for our country. My name is Four, and I'm a second year – a junior," the man, Four, informs us. "Cadet Basic Training is a testing time, where you find out if you're cut out for the army or not. Being here is half the battle," he smiles briefly, showing some emotion.

"You're going to be tested in every way possible, and you have to be resilient and strong to make it through. Trust me, I've done it before. It's not easy," he says. He talks more about the trials of 'Beast Barracks,' what Cadet Basic Training, or CBT, is more commonly referred to. I find myself zoning out, and I start to shake out of nerves. In a few seconds this speech is going to be over, and then what? I'm training to become part of the army, with guns and grenades and _death_ – what have I done?

"You now have ninety seconds to say goodbye to your families," I catch the last line of his monologue. He steps off the stage briskly, as everyone rises from their seats to hug friends and family.

Everyone starts crying and weeping, sniffling is an incessant noise that fills the room immediately. I look to Christina, not sure what to do. Her parents said goodbye to her back home as well, and I know mine would never leave our little town no matter the circumstances.

We sit in an awkward silence until a deep voice booms that the time is up. They herd us in to a little room off the side of the theater, and we all set our bags down next to us and wait for instruction.

The same man who talked earlier, Four was his name, steps up on a chair and clears his throat. We quiet immediately.

"As I said earlier, my name is Four and I'll be one of your cadres – student mentors slash instructors – if you're in my sector. You'll find out your sectors soon, but now we have to get you ready. Follow me," he commands, walking briskly out the back entrance. We all hurry to keep up with his fast pace as we walk out of the building in to the sunlight.

We pile on to a large bus, and take a quick ride to the other side of campus. I watch out my tinted window eagerly, examining the architecture as much as you can from a speeding bus.

I try to talk to Christina, who thankfully got a seat next to me, but everyone is dead silent. I'm left to be nervous on my own.

We rush out just as quickly as we got on, and follow Four and a few other upperclassmen – I'm assuming – inside a big, fancy building labeled 'LEE' on a brass plate next to the door. We go down the stairs to a little room. Upon entering I see that it's a hair salon. I gulp. I knew I was going to have to get a hair cut, but not _that_ short.

A girl's sitting in a chair near the door, having her hair buzzed off so only an inch is left.

"Boys, on the left, girls on the right, now!" Four yells. I get pushed to the front of the girls line somehow, and I'm left staring in to Four's eyes. They're a mysterious dark blue, a dreamy color.

I shake those thoughts out of my head quickly, scolding myself for thinking that way. He's my cadre, and who would want me anyways?

The boys start to be called to chairs by many of the salon workers, who are wearing camo shirts and pants with the army star embellished on the front.

The measly line of girls is left to listen to Four. "Attention!" He commands, and everyone turns around rigidly, facing him. "You do not have to get your hair cut, although if it is below your shoulders you must get it cut to at least shoulder length. We recommend you cut it even with your ears or shorter, as it is easiest to have a haircut that requires no matinence. You may go to a chair."

We all rush over to one of the chairs. A brown skinned woman wearing the same clothes as the others greets me, putting a cape around my neck. My hair's down to my middle back so I'm getting it cut either way.

She pulls my blond locks out of their ponytail gently, brushing through them with her fingers. "Shoulder, ear, or buzz?" She asks.

I hesitate, then reply, "Ears, please." Four's right, from what I've read about CBT it'll be easier if I don't have to worry about my hair getting in the way or worrying about pulling it up.

She nods, turning the chair around, submerging my hair in a big sink full of warm water. She wets it thoroughly, then pulls me out, briefly towel drying before beginning to cut.

I shut my eyes tight, not wanting to see the hair on the floor or on my cape. I feel some landing on my neck, and getting caught in the collar of the cape causing me to itch furiously.

I try to cut off the sound from my ears, the scissors getting louder and softer as she nears my ears. I feel the cool metal of the blade pressing against my earlobe as she cuts the hair around it.

"You're done," she says briskly, whipping the cape off of me and ushering me out of the chair.

"Thank you," I say, heading over to the mirror by the door. I almost gasp when I see my reflection. I've always had an angular face, features too big for it, but now it's even more pronounced. My eyes look rounder and my nose looks longer, but when I swish my head from side to side it feels lighter than a feather.

"Alright, cadets, move out!" Four shouts from near the door. We get in to two lines, I'm at the back of the left line, and we march out. I don't know where Christina went, and her hair doesn't distinguish her anymore.

We march outside in perfectly straight formation until we reach another building that we're led in to. Four tells us it's the Cadet Store, and that we're going to be issued a backpack filled with our clothes.

We each step forward, one by one, staying in line in an assembly line like way. A dark green backpack with tons of straps and pockets gets shoved in my arms, and my knees almost buckle under it's weight. I cover up quickly; I can't look weak in front of these people.

We put on our backpacks quickly, strapping them up and marching out, following the lines again. Four stops in the middle of the street, and we all stop behind him. It's so abrupt and I was busy watching the buildings ahead of me that I almost bump into a girl in front of me. She turns around, gives me a menacing look and faces front again. I've already got people disliking me. What a great way to start.

"I'm going to give you your regiment assignments, and from there you're going to get your barracks buildings." He shuffles some papers, "If your last name starts with A to I, you're in the first regiment." There's some murmuring and whispering, which is quickly silenced by a death glare by Four.

"Thank you. If your last name starts with J to P, you're in the second regiment," after I hear my assignment, I zone out for the rest.

"First regiment will be living in the Lee Barracks. Second regiment will be living in the Bradley Barracks. The third and fourth regiments will be living in the MacArthur Barracks," he finishes, standing perfectly straight, arms behind him, staring at all of us. One of the other cadres steps up next to him.

"I'm Eric," he says, rubbing his buzzed blond hair, "and if you're in the third or fourth regiments I'll be your cadre. Follow me to the barracks."

Some cadets start to slowly make their way out of the formation towards Eric. "Hurry up, cadets!" He yells. "One line behind me. And march!" They all march off, perfectly in sync.

Four turns to us again, "One line behind me. And march!" He says the same command. We quickly file in behind him and march through the streets.

We come across a large building, and I recognize it as the building where I got my hair cut. "First regiment, this is your stop. There is an office, first door on the left, where you will get your room assignments. You are to change in to your every day clothes, leave your bags on your beds and meet at Washington Hall at 18 hours. Second regiment, march."

I continue walking, watching the first regiment – more than half of our group – walk into the building quickly, lugging bags and backpacks behind them.

We reach our destination quickly: A big stone building with hundreds of windows, and old looking rocks. It has a brass plate next to the door: BRADLEY. "This is the Bradley Barracks, where you will be living. Office first door on the left, you are to change in to your every day clothes, leave your bags on your beds and meet at Washington Hall in 18 hours," he repeats. With that, he uncrosses his arms and walks briskly off in the other direction.

I look around and spot a girl with shoulder length brown hair heading towards the door. _Christina._ I rush over to her, giving her a tap on the shoulder. She gives me an excited thumbs up, and an astonished gasp at my hair.

We get in to the office and they start giving out room numbers and roommates. I hear my name called next to Christina's. Good. I'm going to need a friend.

* * *

_Thank you for all the readers and reviewers so far!_


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